


Ten Inch Hunter

by Banshee1013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Researching Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshee1013/pseuds/Banshee1013
Summary: After returning from Purgatory the second time, Castiel and Dean were just beginning to explore the new direction of their relationship, when on a case involving missing hunters, Dean is struck by a witch's curse and turned into a ten-inch plastic figurine.Can Sam find a way to revert the effects of the curse and return Dean to himself before the tiny spark of life Cas detects in him fades away? Or will Cas lose Dean just as their relationship has begun?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 68
Kudos: 136
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2020





	1. The Witch

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Bang! I was so inspired by [DeliciousIrony's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony) lovely art, this fic ended up being WAAAAAY longer than I thought it would be!
> 
> Many MANY thanks to the lovely [insominia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia) for beta'ing and cheerleading! *kisses*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several hunters have gone missing, and Sam thinks he's found a connection between them. The boys head off on the case.

“Dean… I think I have something here…”

No response.

Sam glanced up over the top of his laptop to see Dean and Castiel at the far end of the table, eyes locked on each other in silent communion. Dean’s hand was outstretched on the table, Cas’ clasping it firmly, their fingers entwined - oblivious to anything that wasn’t each other. 

The immature part of Sam’s brain wanted to groan at the display, but the rest of him was far too happy to see his brother and his friend like this - finally acknowledging what Sam had suspected for ages. That it took, of all things, another trip to Purgatory and another occasion of Dean thinking he’d lost Cas to finally get all the walls he had built up around his heart to come crashing down. 

It was on the drive back to the Bunker after the confrontation with Chuck at the casino when Sam first noticed _something_ had changed between Dean and Cas - the atmosphere of anger and distrust he had felt recently whenever they were together was gone, replaced by something - lighter, carefree. Even though Chuck had escaped, which would normally have Dean in a fury and spoiling for a fight, he was calm, hopeful even. A glance in the mirror at Cas in the back seat showed him to have a similar demeanor. 

Later, after his painful goodbye with Eileen, he found them in the Bunker’s kitchen, sitting at the table catty-corner to each other. Cas’ head was tilted toward Dean, almost touching, his hand brushing against Dean’s on the glass of whiskey in his hand. Even though Sam’s own heart was breaking, seeing them together like this was like a balm to his pain. Backing away slightly and making sure to clear his throat before he rounded the corner, he saw Dean startle and Cas quickly pull back, and hid a grin. 

But the enormity of the change between them became evident the next day, as Cas was leaving, returning to Heaven to see if they had any leads on where Chuck might have gone. Dean had accompanied him to the landing at the top of the stairs, and as Cas was opening the door to leave, Dean reached for his arm and turned him, the other hand reaching to grasp the nape of his neck - and to Sam’s great surprise, pulled Cas into a long, deep kiss. Sam’s eyebrows shot up even higher when Cas returned it with great fervor, then breaking free, pulled Dean’s forehead to his in silent farewell before turning and heading through the door. The look of longing on Dean’s face as the door closed, his hand pressed against it and head bowed, spoke volumes to Sam; and when he turned to see Sam staring, Dean’s face flared red. He gave Sam a shrug and a sheepish grin.

“What? We made up.”

Sam snorted. “‘Made up’, seriously? That looked like a lot more than just _‘made up’_!” 

That had been several weeks ago, and the closeness between the two had only increased since then - leading to Sam having to clear his throat loudly to draw their attention back to the subject at hand.

Dean startled at the noise, subconsciously pulling his hand away and making a big show of giving Sam his full attention.

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean but his mouth twitched in an indulgent grin. Turning to Sam, he apologized. “I’m sorry, Sam. You were saying?”

Sam sighed. “Remember - the case? The missing hunters? I think I’ve found what’s happened to them.”

That got Dean’s full attention. “You have? What’s the story?”

“While you two have been… whatever you were doing… I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” Sam interjected and threw up a hand as Cas ‘ mouth opened, certain that he was about to begin explaining _exactly_ what they were -- and _had been_ \-- doing, and NO THANK YOU. “I’ve been analyzing the cases the hunters were on before disappearing, and I think I’ve found a link.” 

Dean waited a beat for Sam to continue, then impatiently waved his hand in a ‘come-on’ gesture. “And?”

“AND,” Sam huffed, “they were all investigating disappearances in the area.”

“So, the missing hunters were investigating disappearances, and disappeared themselves,” Cas mused. 

“Right,” Sam agreed, “and then, of course, hunters went to investigate the missing hunters…”  
“And round and round we go.” Dean finished. “So, where were they when they disappeared?”

Sam spun his laptop around, displaying a map with a number of crosses and an obvious clear area appearing in the center. “Each mark is the location where a missing hunter checked in last.” Sam tapped the ‘satellite’ button on the map and as he zoomed in to the blank area, an overhead shot of an apparently deserted farmhouse came into view. 

“Well, looks like that “hunter check-in” system of yours really paid off,” Dean admitted, pushing away from the library table. “Okay, pack what you need, let’s hit the road.” Cas followed suit, Dean taking his hand as they headed back toward their rooms to pack. 

Sam grinned after them and, shaking his head, closed the laptop and left to do his own packing.

**********

Several hours later, with the Impala parked off the road and hidden from view of the farmhouse below, the three surveyed the site.

Dean, a pair of binoculars pulled up to his eyes, observed the farmhouse below. “I’m not seeing any movement - but we all know that doesn’t mean jack squat.” He lowered the glasses to cast a baleful eye at his brother, crouched next to him peering through an additional pair of binoculars.

“Cas, what about warding - anything going on?” Sam asked as he surveyed the grounds.  
Dean glanced up to Cas, the angel performing his signature squint, eyes going distant as he focused on the buildings below. 

“I’m sensing… residual power, but no active warding.” 

Sam pulled the binoculars down and glanced over at Dean, who met his gaze.  
“Witch,” they said in unison.

“I would have to agree,” Cas concurred, turning to the brothers. ”What is the… play, I believe you say…”, causing Dean to grin at him fondly. 

The whole “feeling his feelings” thing when it came to Cas was still very new and raw, and the increasing number of things the angel did that Dean found endearing continued to surprise him. 

Cas going out of his way to use their phrasing was almost UNBEARABLY adorable. 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned his attention back to the farmhouse. Unfortunately, there was no ground cover between here and the building - no way to approach it unseen. Stealth was out of the question. 

“Okay, let’s arm up.” Dean led the way to the back of the Impala and the arsenal hidden in the trunk. “Let’s just hope there’s more of us than there are of them.”

Dean fished out the box of witch-killing bullets, loading up his pistol and handing the box to Sam who followed suit, then grabbed the shotguns loaded with salt and iron rounds just in case, tossing one to Sam. _Semper Paratus_ , John used to say, and in this, his father’s advice had never failed him. 

Cas, of course, needed nothing more than the angel blade he shook from the sleeve of his trench coat. Armed and ready, Dean closed the trunk. 

“Okay, here’s the play,” he said with a wink at Cas. “Sam, you take the front, I’ll go in the back. Cas, circle around and come in that kitchen door we saw in the satellite.” Sam and Cas nodded in agreement and headed toward the farmhouse.

Dean reached out to grab Cas’ arm as he started away, turning him around.

“Be careful,” Dean said gruffly, trying not to be annoyed by the dark pit of worry lying heavy in his gut.

Cas, always being the more hands-on type, pulled Dean to him and held him tight.  
“You do the same,” he whispered softly into Dean’s ear, then turned away to follow Sam.

Dean took several deep breaths to recover from that, then headed warily toward the back of the house.

**********

Castiel made his way around the back of the house to the far side, where the small kitchen door they had observed in the satellite pictures stood. Standing just outside the door, he stilled and listened, tapping into his faltering Grace to enhance his hearing.

He could hear Sam at the front, quietly twisting the front doorknob and finding it unlocked, heard the slight creak of the door as it opened and his quiet footsteps as he cautiously entered. He heard similar movements from Dean at the back entrance. Once again he had the opportunity to admire their skill - there were many things he disliked regarding the methods employed by their father in raising them, but he could not fault John Winchester’s training methods.

But other than their stealthy footsteps, Castiel heard nothing else. He turned the knob in his hand and entered the building, his own footsteps whisper silent. 

Stealing across the kitchen floor and heading to the main part of the house, the first thing he noticed were several small figurines, no bigger than a child’s fashion doll, placed around the room in various locations and positions - some posed in rather embarrassing and inappropriate manners. Upon closer examination, he believed one bore the resemblance of one of the missing hunters. 

Distracted by his examination, he failed to notice the witch moving soundlessly behind him until it was almost too late. At the last moment, he heard movement behind him and pivoted to parry the downward thrust of the knife borne by the witch with his angel blade, knocking it out of her hand and sending it skittering harmlessly across the room. Castiel lunged after her with his blade, but she danced backward out of reach.

Thrusting out a hand, he pinned her to the wall with his Grace and shouted for the brothers.

“Sam! Dean! I have the witch pinned…”

But at that moment, his failing Grace sputtered, and the witch dropped to the floor. Quickly recovering, she shouted “Abi!” and with a flick of her hand, threw him against the wall. As he lay on the floor, dazed, she began to mutter under her breath, leveling a raised hand at him, eyes burning with purple light. Her outstretched hand began to glow, and with a shout launched a flash of light toward him. 

“NO!” Castiel dimly heard Dean’s voice, quickly followed by the sound of gunfire as he burst into the room, launching himself in front of Castiel, pistol raised and spitting fire. The bullets found their mark and the witch fell, but at the same time the flash of light aimed at him instead engulfed Dean, and he watched in horror as Dean’s body began to stiffen and shrink in mid-air before he clattered to the floor. Shrunken into a plastic figurine like the others placed around the room, arms outstretched in full flight, his miniature gun aiming at nothing. 

Castiel heard a broken sound and realized it was coming from himself. He knelt before the figurine of Dean and gently picked it up as Sam burst into the room, pistol at the ready.

**********

Sam had just finished clearing the front of the house when he heard Cas call, followed by the sound of something slamming into a wall. He raced toward the sound, and hearing Dean’s shout followed by gunfire, turned up the speed, raising his pistol as the ran. 

Sam turned the corner and immediately began looking for whatever he needed to shoot, only to find the witch already slumped in the corner, dead, and Cas kneeling on the floor holding a tiny figurine, similar to the ones he saw scattered throughout the house. 

But no sign of Dean.

Sam hurried to Cas’ side. Kneeling beside him, he placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder and gave him the once-over. He seemed dazed but not hurt.

“Cas… hey, are you alright? What happened?” Again, he looked around the room but found no sign of Dean. “Where’s Dean?”

Cas was deathly still, not speaking, his focus on the doll in his hands. Sam took a closer look at the doll, and realized the horrible truth. 

“Oh my god… Cas, is… is that Dean?”

Cas’ shoulder began to tremble under Sam’s hand. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder, HARD, and Cas finally turned to look at him, his eyes haunted and bright with brimming tears. 

“Cas,” Sam said, his own voice breaking, “is he… still alive?”

Cas took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. After a moment, his eyes opened and he nodded at Sam.

“I can still detect a small spark of life in him,” he said, his voice still shaking. 

Sam exhaled a gust of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Okay, that’s… that’s good. We can work with that.” Standing, he helped Cas to his feet and looked around at the figurines scattered around the room, finally realizing they were the missing hunters. Some had toppled over in the fight but none appeared to be damaged. He turned back to Cas, who hadn’t moved; still holding Dean’s figurine, staring down at it.

Sam grasped Cas’ shoulders and gave him a small shake, breaking Cas out of his trance. He looked up at Sam, his face stricken. 

“Sam… what are we going to do?” Cas asked him, his voice so small and broken, and Sam had to choke down a lump in his own throat. 

“We’ll fix him, Cas, I promise. But first, we need to get out of here.” 

Looking around the room at the many figurines, Sam formulated a plan. Searching the house, he found a couple of boxes and began to place the figurines carefully inside them. Cas gingerly placed Dean into the inside breast pocket of his trench coat, grabbed another box, and helped Sam collect the rest of the figurines. After all had been collected, Sam led the way out of the house and back to the Impala, each with a box of figurines. Cas carried his box carefully as to not crush Dean in his pocket as he did so. 

But when they reached the Impala, Sam realized something else - the keys, which had been in Dean’s pocket, had been shrunk with him as well as being plasticized. Thankfully the doors were unlocked, so he and Cas were able to place the boxes and Sam’s shotgun into the back seat. As Sam bent over the steering column to hotwire the Impala, his first thought was how Dean was going to have his ass for tampering with his Baby - followed by a stabbing pain in his heart as he remembered Dean wouldn’t even know.

He would give anything right now to have Dean yell at him.

During the drive back to the bunker, Sam spared a glance over to see how Cas was doing. He sat unmoving and unspeaking in the passenger seat, a hand placed over the breast pocket where Dean’s figurine rested, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead.

Sam swallowed hard, and turning his attention back to the road, started to think of where to look for a cure once they got back to the Bunker.


	2. The Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas return to the Bunker, and Sam begins looking for a way to restore Dean from the witch's curse.

Castiel leaned against the edge of the table in the bunker library, staring down at the small Dean-shaped figure cradled in his hands. The box of figurines he had brought in from the Impala upon their return to the Bunker had been placed on the other table across from him. 

Despondently, he swiped a thumb over the shiny plastic of Dean’s face and pulled it away damp, suddenly aware of silent tears seeping from his eyes. Another one slid down his nose and dripped from the end to land on Dean’s face, and he wiped that one away as well.

On the drive back to the Bunker, Cas had discovered Dean’s limbs could be moved, which explained some of the absurd poses the other figurines had been found in. He had then posed Dean in what he assumed would be a more comfortable position - arms at his side, legs straight. The tiny gun in his hand couldn’t be removed, and the shotgun that had been placed inside his jacket was a mere lump in the plastic underneath it - but Cas hoped that if the tiny spark he sensed inside the figure was Dean’s consciousness, and if Dean was aware of his predicament, that he was at least more comfortable.

Castiel fervently hoped that Dean was NOT conscious, and wiped another drop of dampness from Dean’s face. 

He heard Sam emerge from the garage behind him, heard him enter the library, and the slight thud and scrape of the box as it was placed on the table next to the first. He heard Sam come up next to him, felt him place a comforting hand on his shoulder - but he didn’t look up from Dean’s shiny plastic face.

“We’ll get him back, Cas, don’t worry,” Sam said quietly. “We’ll get them _all_ back. I’ll find a spell to remove the curse - I’m sure there has to be something in the Book of the Damned or Rowena’s notes…” Sam yawned mightily. “Just… let me get a few hours shut-eye…”

Castiel nodded silently. Sam gave his shoulder a parting squeeze as he turned away. Castiel heard his footsteps echo as he passed the Map Table and down the hallway to his room. 

Standing, Castiel held Dean in one hand while pulling out a chair with the other. Arranging Dean’s legs into a sitting position, he sat him down on the table, leaning him against one of the table lamps. He plopped inelegantly into the pulled-out chair and leaned over the table, head cushioned on his crossed arms. 

He didn’t sleep, per se, but he _did_ dream.

He dreamed of the argument with Dean after Rowena’s death, where he had lashed out and wondered why everything that had gone wrong always seemed to be something Castiel had a hand in. How Dean had pushed him away, and Castiel had left, feeling every bit to blame for being incapable of keeping the people Dean loved safe. 

He dreamed of when he’d returned to the Bunker to accompany the brothers to Hell to rescue Michael from the Pit, only to be told Michael was already gone, escaped when Chuck had opened all the gates of Hell. When they discovered Rowena wasn’t dead and was instead the Queen of Hell. When she noticed the rift between them and told them to “FIX IT!”. 

He dreamed of their last trip to Purgatory, seeing Dean lying unconscious in the angel trap, bargaining with the Leviathans to leave Dean alive if he went with them willingly. Finding the blossom, fighting off the Leviathans and escaping only to return to the angel trap and find Dean gone. Returning to the fissure and hiding against the tree, unsure if he would ever see Dean again and vowing not to cross back over without him. Watching as the fissure became smaller and weaker, hoping against hope Dean was alive and on his way back. 

And then, the most incredible thing - Dean’s voice, broken and shaking, echoing in his head. Dean was _praying_ and it was full of apologies and forgiveness… and love. But he didn’t dare leave the tree to search for him - the power of the nearby fissure was masking him from the Leviathans, and he had no idea where Dean was. He had no recourse but to hope Dean could make his way back to the fissure in time. 

So when Dean stumbled around the side of the tree, Castiel did not believe it at first. “Dean?” he had croaked around the fear and tension seizing his throat, and Dean had spun, shotgun leveled and a hair’s breadth from filling him full of rock salt. Instead, Dean had dropped the weapon and enveloped him in a crushing hug that spoke all the words his lips couldn’t. After they had pulled away from each other and Castiel explained his escape and acquisition of the Leviathan blossom, Dean had begun to shuffle his feet, eyes askance. “Cas… I need to say something…” 

Castiel interrupted him, saying he had heard his prayer - if Dean had more to confess, he didn’t want it to hear it in this ugly place, to have the memory forever tainted by it. He turned and walked through the fissure, Dean behind him. No sooner had they stepped through and into the Bunker, Dean had grasped his arm and spun him around, pulling Castiel into his arms. 

“Cas… Cas, I’m so, so sorry… so stupid…. I was… I couldn’t handle it, how I felt about you…,” the words tumbled from Dean in a rush, “So I pushed you away, I blamed you for everything, for Mom, for Jack, for Rowena… I’m a coward and I couldn’t deal with… I was so afraid of how much I loved you…” Dean’s shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Castiel held him tight, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder, an arm around Dean’s waist and the other around his neck, his hand pressed to the back of Dean’s head, holding him as he shuddered through his confession. 

“Dean…,” Castiel turned to breathe into Dean’s ear, felt him shudder anew. “I love you as well.”

“Then why… Cas, why did you leave?” Dean’s voice, barely audible. 

“How could I stay? I had caused you so much pain, I couldn’t bear to see it.” Castiel had sighed and pulled away from Dean, head hanging, shoulders hunched. “Your anger, your accusations… they hurt me, but mostly because they were true - I’m… ineffectual, my Grace faltering…I couldn’t save the ones you loved, Dean… how could you possibly want me after that?”

Dean reached for him then, slid a hand under Castiel’s chin and raised his head to meet Dean’s gaze. 

“That’s not on you, Cas… I know that now, I know it’s Chuck who’s sapping your Grace, stealing your mojo,” he said, his voice soft and earnest. “But we’re going to find him, and we’re going to END HIM - together.” 

Castiel had seen the truth of his words burning in those green eyes and doubted no more.

When he emerged from the dream, he had no idea how much time had passed, but the Bunker remained still and quiet - Sam was still asleep. Raising his head and blinking in the dim light of the table lamp, his gaze fell on Dean’s diminutive form and he felt the stabbing pain in his heart renew. He brushed his fingers against Dean, feeling for the spark, and was comforted by the tingle against his senses. 

His gaze wandered toward the boxes stacked on the table next to him… perhaps he could make the other hunters more comfortable as well. It seemed… inelegant… to leave them in the degrading and uncomfortable positions the witch had placed them in, and stacked in boxes like discarded toys. Rising from the chair, he headed over and began to remove the figurines, one by one, posing them in relaxed sitting positions and setting them on the bookshelf overlooking the Library, legs dangling off the edge. As he did so, he checked each for the same spark he felt in Dean, relieved to find it present in all - although in some, the spark was not as strong: presumably the ones that had been in this state the longest.

That was concerning, and he made a mental note to tell Sam about it when he awakened. 

He stood back to admire his work - a neat row of figurines on the bookshelf, all looking much more comfortable. Stopping to focus on the time and figuring Sam would wake up soon, he wondered what he would think of the display. 

He didn’t have long to wait - although the reaction was not exactly what he was expecting.

“GAHHHH WHAT THE FUCK…” Castiel heard Sam’s exclamation all the way from the kitchen where he had gone to make coffee in anticipation of Sam’s need upon waking, and in no small part his desire for some as well, having developed quite a taste for it. So shocking was Sam’s reaction, Castiel almost dropped the cup he was preparing for himself. Setting it down quickly and hastening to the library to see what had alarmed Sam, he almost ran into him as he left the kitchen.

“Did… did _you_ do that?” Sam gasped, pointing back toward the library and the row of figurines on the bookshelf.

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, brow furrowed. “Yes? I’m the only other person here, Sam.”

Sam slapped a palm to his face. “Dude, it’s… CREEPY, okay?” 

“I just thought they would be more comfortable on the shelf instead of in the boxes, “ Castiel explained, his confused look deepening. 

Sam sighed. “Okay, I get that. But isn’t there… I dunno, some other place we could put them until I figure out how to remove the curse?” Sam glanced back over his shoulder and shuddered again. “I’m never going to be able to concentrate with them… _staring_ at me like that.” 

Castiel considered Sam’s request and had an idea. 

“I could put them in the Dean Cave,” he offered.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, then sniffing the air: “Hey, did you make coffee? That’s great!” He ambled off to the kitchen, and Castiel took the opportunity to move all the figurines into the room Dean had appropriated for his oversized television and reclining chairs. He carefully arranged the figurines on the bar - all except Dean, which after some experimentation, discovered if he posed Dean with his knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them, would fit in the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Even though he bulged out somewhat, Castiel didn’t care as long as Dean was close.

Turning to leave the Dean Cave, he paused, considering - and turned on the television.  
Just in case.

**********

Sam returned to the library, coffee cup filled with go-juice, and breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed all the figurines were gone. 

Staggering half-asleep into the library and seeing a row of incredibly life-like ten-inch dolls staring at him had been a shock to the system. Even the memory was enough to make him shiver. 

He immediately felt bad. Those were not just inanimate dolls -- okay, they were, but still -- they were his friends and fellow hunters, suffering under a curse. 

But the idea of trying to get anything done with their silent eyes staring in judgment would have been counter-productive at best. 

Setting the cup down, he turned back to the bookshelves, filled with the collective knowledge of the Men of Letters. The answer had to be in here somewhere.

But where the hell to start? 

Sam sighed, took a sip of coffee, and moved to the bookshelves, scanning the titles on the spines and hoping for inspiration. 

A cup of coffee and a half-hour later, he remembered - he had the spellbooks and journals of the most powerful witch that ever walked the Earth (and current Queen of Hell) at his disposal! Groaning in annoyance, he found the books where he had stored them on the shelves and set them on the table. Running to the kitchen for another cup of coffee and some fruit salad, he returned to the pile of books and dug in.

**********

After many, many hours, far too many pots of coffee (which Castiel dutifully maintained), and a hastily devoured Caesar Salad later, Castiel heard Sam exclaim, “Cas! Cas, come quick, I think I’ve found something!”

Castiel had been in the Dean Cave, monitoring the sparks within each of the figurines, noting which ones were weakest and arranging them in order as a form of triage. None appeared to be in imminent danger of completely fading at the moment, which made Castiel feel a bit better about his decision for Dean to be the first to be freed from the curse.

Assuming, of course, that a way to remove the curse could be found. 

He shook his head to dispel the negative thought. Positive thoughts only, he chastised himself. Sam would find a reversal spell. He believed that.

He _had_ to believe that. The thought of losing Dean after all they had been through, after all they had confided to each other, was too much to bear. 

His triage and reorganization of the figurines complete, Castiel sighed and sank down into one of the reclining chairs. Fetching Dean from his pocket, he held him again in his two hands and stared down onto his still face. 

The expression Dean had been wearing when he had lunged in the path of the witch’s attack was frozen on his face - panic and determination in equal measure, the green eyes wide and alarmed, lips drawn in concentration. It was a similar expression to the one Dean had been wearing upon their return to the Bunker after the last confrontation with Chuck. They had retired to the kitchen to give Sam and Eileen some privacy -- her experiences of being such an easy pawn for Chuck had shaken her to her core, filling her with the overwhelming need to leave until she could “find something real” -- and as they sat together at the kitchen table, Castiel could see the tension still lurking in Dean: lips drawn, green eyes blazing - but then, it had been with anger and determination; his eyes not quite so wide, the pupils not quite so dilated. Their knees brushing under the table, Castiel could feel the tension there as well, and his hands clenched around the glass of whiskey, a visual indicator of the same. He had reached out then, his fingers brushing against Dean’s against the glass, trying to coerce him to let go, to relax. He had leaned forward, to press his forehead against Dean’s to offer some modicum of comfort. It had been in the process of working - Dean’s face had tilted up, full lips millimeters away from contact with his own, Dean’s index finger loosening on the glass to stroke against his, when Sam made an obvious show of being present, startling Dean away from the contact - much to Castiel’s intense and lingering regret. 

He was snapped out of his reverie by Sam’s urgent call as it echoed down the hallway. Placing Dean back in his pocket, he dashed from the Cave to the Library and all but skidded to a halt in front of the table where Sam was working.

Rowena’s spellbooks and journals were scattered on the table along with several tomes from the nearby bookshelves. Castiel could only assume there was some sort of order to the mayhem, but catching a glimpse of the condition Sam himself was in, he began to wonder. 

Sam’s hair, usually smooth and flowing, was shaggy and coarse from many hours of being pulled and tugged at in frustration or distraction. Dark circles shadowed the underside of his eyes from not enough sleep and too much caffeine. Their hazel color appeared to blaze in their sockets in contrast. Those eyes were now wide, his cheeks flushed in excitement as he jammed the book he was holding into Castiel’s hands, his finger jabbing at a page full of Rowena’s flowing script….

… written in an ancient language he recognized, but in a form of code he didn’t. He looked up from the page to give Sam a puzzled look.

“Oh! Right… Rowena’s code…” Sam manically shoved books and papers aside, finding what he was looking for and brandishing it in triumph before passing it to Castiel - a page written in a poor example of Sam’s usual meticulous script, and scrawled across the top - “Blue Faery”. A list of ingredients followed, and a paragraph of ancient Latin formulating the actual spell. 

“Blue Faery, Cas… get it?” Sam exclaimed, his voice bordering on shrill in his frenzy. “The Blue Faery made Pinocchio into a real boy!” He gestured wildly at the pile of scattered books and documents on the table. “I’ve been able to cross-reference most of the spell and I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what we need to bring back Dean!”

Castiel absently brushed Dean, crouched in his shirt pocket, as he continued to stare mutely at the spell in his other hand. He thrust the spell back in Sam’s hand and turned toward the storeroom and the spell ingredients contained there, Sam right on his heels.

**********

Working together, they quickly gathered the ingredients listed in the spell, suffering a brief moment of panic when they couldn’t find the brass bowl to mix them in. With several bottles of powders and liquids set into the bowl, Sam led the way to the infirmary and set everything on the table for mixing. When the proper portions had been measured into the bowl, Sam reached across the table and bowl to firmly grasp Cas by the shoulder. 

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Sam started, and noticing how shaky his voice was, stopped to close his eyes and bow his head, taking a deep breath to steady his rattled nerves. Damned caffeine, along with adrenaline and excitement had given him the shakes, and he needed a moment to calm himself, to get his breathing and pulse under control.

He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, feel his concern and tension from the set of his shoulder under Sam’s hand, but if there was one thing Rowena had drilled into his head, it was the precise nature of magic and the mental state of the practitioner having a direct effect on the performance of spellwork. So he paused, and prepared himself.

When he was ready, he started again.

“The plan - we perform the spell on Dean. If it works, we have enough of the ingredients to restore everyone else.” He released Cas’ shoulder and straightened up to meet his gaze. “Agreed?”

“Yes,” 

Sam nodded. “Okay, let’s get started. Where’s Dean?”

“Dean is here,” Cas said, reaching inside his coat to pull Dean’s figurine gingerly from his shirt pocket, moving to lay him on one of the infirmary beds. The delicate, careful way Cas straightened out Dean’s legs and lowered his arms to his sides before laying him gently on the bed caused a tiny lump of emotion to momentarily catch in Sam’s throat, and he swallowed it back down as Cas returned to the table.

The spell called for both human and angel blood -- a mixture of the mundane and divine to simulate faery blood -- so while murmuring the Latin words in unison, both pulled silver ritual knives to cut a thin slice in each of their palms, squeezing the blood over the other ingredients in the bowl. Quickly wrapping his wound with cloth, Cas lit a match and with the final word, dropped the tiny flame into the bowl. 

The contents of the bowl flared with a bright blue light, and with a shout of the activation word, Sam gathered that light into his hands and flung it toward the bed where Dean lay. 

The light swirled and coalesced around the bed, and a bright flash burst over it, Sam and Cas throwing their arms up to shield their eyes. As the light dissipated, they lowered their arms and turned to face the bed, blinking away the spots and the smoke.

“Hey… hey fellas. What happened?” Dean’s voice coming from the bed, but… 

Sam waved away the last of the smoke, Cas following suit, and both stilled in shock.

“Wow, you guys are HUGE… wait, WHY… Where am I.. on a bed? What the hell…”

Sam blinked, still not believing his eyes. 

Dean was sitting upright in the bed, his eyes wide and darting around the room, hands brushing the sheet underneath him. 

The spell had worked, but it hadn’t _completely_ worked.

Dean was conscious, and moving - and still only ten inches tall.


	3. The Real Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is alive... sort of. Sam continues his research to return Dean to his normal size, and Cas makes an alarming discovery.

Dean opened his eyes, blinking in the haze, and sat up. Disoriented as hell and more than a little dizzy, he groaned and leaned over, lowered his head into his hands and rubbed his temples.

Holy crap, he must have really tied one on last night - or his tolerance for booze was going to shit in his old age. As the dizziness began to subside, he looked up…

… and saw the GIGANTIC forms of his brother and Cas standing at what seemed to be the far side of the infirmary.

“Hey… hey fellas. What happened?” he asked blearily, staring up… and UP… at them.

They didn’t look so good. Also, THEY WERE GIGANTIC.

“Wow, you guys are HUGE… wait, WHY…” He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed - he was just a little delirious, that’s all, and if he could stand up, get a little perspective… but he couldn’t find the edge of the bed. Everything was white and flat and…

“Where am I.. on a bed? What the hell…”

He began to feel like he was going to pass out again, or maybe barf.

Or maybe both.

The light briefly dimmed as Giant Cas and Even-More-Giant-Than-Usual Sam moved closer to the bed before crouching down to his level, and he found himself staring first into his brother’s immense hazel eyes, then turning to stare into the brightest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

He really loved those eyes when they were regular sized. Now they were like the ocean, like the sky in the early evening. He could fall into those eyes and drown…

“Whoa… WHOA there, Dean,” Sam’s massive paw suddenly encompassed his entire back as he started to fall, voice booming too loud next to his ear, and Dean reflexively threw his hands over his ears. Sam took the hint and lowered his voice. “Dean?”

“Dean, how do you feel?” Cas’ usual deep growling voice softened to a murmur and sent shivers down Dean’s spine, and he fervently hoped Sam didn’t feel it, but couldn’t imagine how he wouldn’t have considering practically his entire body was enclosed in his enormous paw.

“How do I feel?” Dean mused, his voice sounding somewhat tinny in his own ears. He imagined he probably sounded like a squeaky flea to them so turned up the volume. “I… fine, I guess?” He really had to get an assessment of the situation before he could make that judgment call.  
Time to take stock. He raised his arms, wiggled fingers, all seemed normal. Rolling his shoulders, then rising to his knees and pausing a bit before pushing himself up to stand. All still normal, maybe a little stiff… what the hell had happened at that house?

The last thing he remembered was seeing the witch level a purple ball of light at Cas, and…

Oh shit.

He turned back to Sam. “I got hit by that witch bitch, didn’t I?” The idea annoyed him so much, he didn’t even grin at the alliteration. “And it turned me into a Ken doll?”

“Yeah…,” Sam said absently, because his attention was now drawn to Dean’s clothing, giant fingers gingerly pinching the hem of his flannel shirt. “This is incredible…,” and poked Dean gently in the arm and would have knocked him over if Cas hadn’t caught him and set him gently back on his feet.

“What?” Dean groused and pushed Sam’s finger away as he made to touch him again. Both hands barely covered his fingertip and it was eerie and annoying, and he did not like it one bit.

“Dean, just twenty minutes ago, you were an inanimate hunk of plastic!” Sam blurted, voice increasing in volume again and quickly quieting again when Dean winced… and then blanched.

“What do you mean, I was a hunk of plastic?” he sputtered to Sam. “I thought the witch just shrank me?” He looked first at Sam, then turned to Cas, and felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

He swallowed harshly, shoving the feeling back down. “How long was I out?”

“Just over a day…” Sam started.  
“Twenty-eight hours, thirty-five minutes and eighteen seconds,” Cas intoned simultaneously.

Dean couldn’t help but smile, his skin flushing. “Counting the hours, were ya, sweetheart?” he teased, winking at Cas, but sobered at the somber, almost crestfallen look on the angel’s face.

“Yes, Dean. I did, very much.” he said, eyes downcast.

As Dean felt the tears welling up and irritatedly blinked them away, the table in the distance scattered with what were obviously spell ingredients came into focus.

“So you found a spell to reverse what the witch did to me?” he asked, gesturing toward the table.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, and sighed. “But apparently it only turned you back into a ‘real boy’.”  
At Dean’s puzzled look, Sam continued. “The spell’s called ‘Blue Faery’ - like in _Pinocchio_ ,” he explained. “One of Rowena’s custom spells, more than likely.” He shrugged. “Designed to return someone from a petrified state, but apparently returning to a certain size wasn’t a feature.”

Dean glowered. “Well, _that_ figures. NOW what?” he growled. “I can’t do SHIT like this!”, gesturing in annoyance at his very short stature.

Sam sighed. “For me, it’s back to the books,” he said, then glanced over at Cas. “For you guys, I guess you get to go toy shopping.”

Cas squinted at Sam in confusion. Dean agreed with him. “Toy shopping? What the hell for?”

Sam ticked off on his fingers. “Clothes, plates, cups, utensils, maybe a bed?” He brushed his colossal fingertip against his clothes again. “It’s not like your old clothes will fit you, and what are you going to drink out of?”

Dean considered this and realized Sam had a point - he could really use a glass of whiskey -- or three -- right now, and he was, sadly, toy-sized.

But.... “Sam… how long am I going to have to deal with this?”

Sam ran fingers through his hair, eyes unfocused. “I… I don’t know, Dean. I hope not for long, but…” Dean could see the fear and uncertainty in his brother’s eyes and fought down his own rising fear.

A fingertip brushed against his hand, knocking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked up into the blue ocean of Cas’ eyes.

“We _will_ fix this, Dean,” Cas said softly, determination coloring his subdued voice. A wan smile broke over his face. “But in the meantime, we might as well make you as comfortable as possible.”

He held out his hand. Dean stared at it, then back up at Cas. Cas wriggled his fingers, and Dean got the hint. Groaning in embarrassment, he climbed onto Cas’ hand.

“Sit with your knees against your chest, and wrap your arms around them. Hold on to them tightly.” Cas instructed. Dean complied, wondering where this was headed, and yelped when Cas delicately pinched his shoulders between two fingers and lifted Dean from his palm. Placing him into the breast pocket of his shirt, it came up to mid-chest on Dean, allowing him to see over the top. Relaxing his knees, he found that it wasn’t that bad - and bonus, he could feel Cas’ chest warm at his back; his scent, like the shores of a lake during a thunderstorm, in his nostrils.

He breathed deep and shuddered, and closed his eyes, both pleased and somewhat mortified to discover he was NOT a Ken Doll ‘down there’.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas inquired, his voice rumbling against Dean’s back and causing a new wave of heat to roll through him.

“Uh huh,” he managed to squeak out.

Cas, thankfully oblivious to the situation going on in his pocket, began to stand, and as vertigo overcame Dean, he squeezed his eyes shut until the movement stopped. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam had stood as well and was heading out of the infirmary, taking the stairs two at a time. Cas followed, slower in order to avoid jostling Dean too much. They followed Sam through the bunker and into the kitchen, Dean grasping onto the edge of the pocket and swaying back and forth a little as Cas walked, leaving Dean wondering if this is what it felt like to ride those elephants in Africa, like he’d seen in the movies.

When they turned the corner into the kitchen, Sam was already there, making a fresh pot of coffee. He looked over his shoulder as they entered, and Dean could see the bitch suppressing a giggle at the sight of him in Cas’ pocket.

“Yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball…”  
“You look adorable…”  
Dean laughed at their simultaneous outburst, and Sam joined him.  
Sam turned to face them, and as he shifted his gaze slightly to Cas, a fresh wave of laughter bubbled out of him.

Dean craned his neck back and up to see what Sam found so funny, and snorted out loud at the look of annoyed confusion on Cas’ face, even more impressive at this angle.

“I fail to see what is so funny about this situation,” Cas grumbled.

Sam wiped his eyes, leaking tears from the outburst, still chuckling. “Of course, you’re right.” Turning back to the coffee pot, he poured a cup and looked toward the library and the pile of books waiting for him.

“You guys should head out. You gonna take the Impala?”

Dean suddenly noticed a sharp stabbing pain in his leg. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keychain, the one with the keys to the Impala. He dangled them in the air and shook them… then smacked Cas with the back of his hand to get his attention, and jingled the keys again.

“Good luck driving the Impala - I don’t think these are gonna fit…”

Dean stopped… “Hey, how did you guys get her home from the witch’s place if the keys were in my pocket…” He turned to glare at Sam. “You didn’t...you hotwired her?”

“Well, yeah… we had to get home somehow!”

“I can’t believe you hotwired MY BABY!”

“We’ll take my car,” Cas growled, and headed for the garage.

**********

Sam looked up from the book he’d been reading, and rubbing his eyes, realized he had read this same page three times already and had no idea what the words actually said. Groaning and stretching, he stood and walked to the kitchen for more coffee and a bite to eat, to try and wake up his mind.

He then realized something else - Cas and his brother had not returned from their shopping trip. Glancing at his watch, he noticed they’d been gone for almost ten hours.

A trip to Topeka shouldn’t take near this long. He pulled out his cell phone and sent a text:  
_Cas is everything ok?_

Several anxious minutes later, he received a reply:  
_Apologies. We were sidetracked._

"Sidetracked?" he said to the empty bunker, stared at the phone and wondered what the hell that meant.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. About twenty minutes later, Cas walked in from the garage and through the map room, two shopping bags in his hands and Dean riding on his shoulder, grasping the collar of the trench coat for traction.

Sam boggled. “Please don’t tell me you were out in public like that…”

“What? NO!” Dean sputtered. “Body might have shrunk but my brain didn’t!” Cas kneeled down next to the table where Sam was working, and with a parting peck to Cas’ ear, Dean jumped off onto the table.

Sam kinda wanted to barf, it was so cute.

Dean’s stomach loudly growled then, surprisingly loud from someone so small. His hands flew to his traitorous belly and he grinned sheepishly at Cas.

Cas rose and picked up one of the shopping bags, placing the other one in a chair. “I’ll only be a minute…” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

Sam watched him leave then turned back to Dean, who had found a seat on a book, back braced against another stacked on top of it. “So, what happened? That should have been an eight-hour trip, tops!”

Dean chuckled. “I need to teach Cas how to use Google Search. He looked up “toy store” and headed to the first one on the list…” Dean stopped to get his laughter under control again, “but the first one was...uh, an ADULT toy store…” he gasped out, doubling over in outright laughter.

Sam snorted. “That must have been… difficult to explain.”

“Nah, I think me busting a gut was explanation enough.”

A smirk played across Sam’s lips.

“Uh-huh, suuuure. I’ve seen how you two are, don’t tell me you weren’t interested in checking out the merchandise.”

Dean flushed bright red. “SHUT UP!” he sputtered, and quickly changed the subject. “So, how’s the research coming? Find anything to make me big again?” He chuckles faintly. “Maybe the location of a Zoltar machine?”

Sam sat back in his chair heavily, shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dean… nothing yet.” Glancing at Dean, he gave him a smile. “But we will, I promise.”

He was glad that sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

Dean’s stomach rumbled again and Cas entered the library as if on cue, a plate of salad in his hand which he sets down in front of Sam.

And in his other hand, a small tray with a plate and a glass.

Placing a couple of books in front of Dean as a table, he set the tray in front of him - and Sam was astounded.

The plate held a tiny burger with cheese and bacon, and shoestring fries; the glass filled with beer.

By the look on his face, Dean was equally astounded. Surveying the contents of the plate, he looked up at Cas, his expression a mixture of impressed and unbelieving.

“You did this… for me? How?” Dean asked, incredulous. Picking up the burger, he took a bite and the groan that came from him was almost pornographic.

Sam continued to gawk at Cas. “Thanks for the salad, Cas, but,” he points at the burger and fries Dean is quickly devouring, and stammers, “H-how?”.

Cas blushes at the praise. “It was not that difficult. I just had to cut everything down to size.”

“Sure, but the french fries..”

“Those are hash browns, separated into individual pieces.” Cas shrugged. “It seemed more logical than slicing actual potatoes.”

“You’re an absolute _genius_ , Cas,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of burger.

“So this is part of what you bought - doll dishes?” Sam asked Cas. “What else?”

Cas pulled the bag from the chair and started pulling out the contents - doll jeans, shirts, sweats and t-shirts, a jacket. “We were also going to get a bed…”

“...but they were all PINK,” Dean interjected, taking a sip of the beer. “It’s like, what… Ken doesn’t sleep?”

Sam guffawed. “You know, I never thought about that!” He looked down at Dean, trying not to laugh at his brother’s tiny chipmunk cheeks as he stuffed the “fries” in his mouth hungrily. “So, where are you going to sleep?”

Dean washed down the fries with the last of the beer, the belch following echoing in the library.  
“My bed, of course. I’ll just sleep on the pillow instead.”

Cas fetched a small blanket out of the bag that joined the clothes. “We did manage to find suitable fabric for a makeshift blanket.”

“Besides, this isn’t going to last forever, right?” Dean said, stifling a big yawn. “Speaking of bed, I’m wiped.” He glanced up at Cas and gave him an embarrassed grin. “Uh, Cas… could you, uh… take me to bed, please?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Cas said, deadpan, and it took extreme willpower on Sam’s part to not burst into laughter.

Cas made a move to take the tray back to the kitchen, but Sam stopped him. “I got it, Cas. Go ahead… and thanks for the salad,” he said, barely able to contain his amusement.

Cas thanked him, then placed his hand palm up on the table. With a tired sigh, Dean climbed into his hand and curled up, eyes closed and practically asleep before Cas could even raise his hand. Picking up the blanket with his other hand, Cas made his way toward Dean’s room.

It took incredible control on Sam’s part to not completely lose it, but he did allow himself a good chuckle once they had rounded the corner into the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Finishing the salad, he took the plate and the tray into the kitchen, still chuckling, then returned to his research.

**********

Castiel reached Dean’s room and opened the door, crossing over to the bed to lay Dean’s prone form on the pillow, covering him with the blanket. Dean sighed and rolled over, pulling the blanket around him, settling in.

Laying a finger lightly on his back, Cas checked the spark within him - and what he found greatly alarmed him.

Dean’s spark was significantly lower than it had been just a couple of days ago, much more than it should be.

He had been routinely checking the other figurines and found that while their sparks were also diminishing, it was at a much slower rate than Dean’s. His spark was now approaching the level of some of the weakest figurines.

Although Dean was flesh again, he was not - human, not entirely. It seemed the “Pinocchio” spell only served to animate inanimate objects, not make them… real. So, like the still inanimate hunters, he had a spark that held what can technically be referred to as his spirit or soul.

And that soul could only be maintained in an actual human body, eventually fading and dying if not restored.

He considered whether he should tell Sam about his concerns, but decided against it… He wouldn’t, not yet. Sam was already placing himself under a great deal of pressure and didn’t need this additional worry added to it.

He stood to leave Dean to his rest, but was called back by Dean’s small, sleepy voice.

“Cas… could you… stay with me? For just a little bit?”

Cas’ heart ached at the vulnerability in Dean’s voice. “Of course, Dean.”

Shifting Dean’s pillow over slightly, Cas lay on top of the bed next to him, placing his hand palm-down next to Dean on the pillow. Dean rolled over and wrapped an arm around Cas’ pinky finger, pulling it close to him.

Dean’s voice was so low and soft, Cas almost didn’t hear him.  
“Love you, Cas. Always have.”  
Dean’s breath smoothed into soft, rhythmic snores.

Cas’ breath caught at the admission, and as Dean released his finger and rolled over again, Cas whispered to his sleeping back, “As do I, Dean. Always and forever.”

Quietly rising from the bed, he soundlessly crossed the room to open the door and exit, closing it silently behind him and heading back to the library to help Sam with his research.

**********

Weeks passed with no progress in finding a way to bring Dean back to his human self.

Sam worked day and night, reading through the vast amount of books in the library, through all of Rowena’s notes and journals, even the Book of the Damned, to no avail. Quite often, Cas came into the library and found him asleep, snoring into one book or another, and sent him off to bed. A couple of hours later and Sam was back at it again.

If Dean was awake, he would chip in and help Sam, or help Cas continue the work when Sam was asleep. And if Dean was asleep -- which he was more and more every day -- Cas continued on alone.

Dean really did want to help, but it was tedious and labor-intensive work for him. Research had never been one of his favorite things, and when it involved books that were as big as he was (if not bigger), flipping pages and reading through them were an exercise in exhaustion.

And of course, Dean never admitted anything was wrong, even when he fell asleep in a book while reading and almost got squashed by a sleep-deprived Sam, or face-first into the tiny pie Cas baked for him.

“It’s fine! Research is _boring as hell_. It’s more surprising _you_ aren’t falling asleep…”  
Or  
“ _Everyone_ gets sleepy on a full stomach!”

But Sam knew Dean was aware he was fading, and every so often caught the fear in his brother’s eyes when he thought no one was looking.

It broke his heart, and pushed him harder.

But even the best hunter and researcher on the planet had a breaking point.

It was the middle of the night, the coffee had run out, and it had been over thirty hours since Sam last slept - and he was completely and emotionally drained.

He didn’t even notice he was crying until he saw tearstains on the page of the book he was staring at and failing to comprehend - and the floodgates opened.

He threw the book he was reading onto the table and curled into himself, knees pulled up to smother the hitching sobs wracking his body. Dean was asleep again, Cas with him, and although he knew Cas didn’t sleep, he didn’t want to disturb what might be his last few days with Dean.

And it wasn’t just Dean he was failing right now - there were a few hunters still in figurine form whose sparks were all but gone. Those hunters were going to die and it was all on him.

He cried until he couldn’t anymore, the tears ran dry but his shoulders continued to shake from his stifled sobs. And as the sobs decreased, an overwhelming melancholy overtook him.

His brother was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it.

A memory came to him, from a time long ago when he was eight and Dean was twelve. Ever since he had read their father’s journal and found out monsters were real and their dad hunted them, Sam would often wake up with nightmares when he had been gone for too long and Dean would always be there to comfort him, be it with his favorite treat (which he would often steal while Sam slept), or telling him stories about the hunts he’d been on with their dad and how he would be fine, he was always fine because he had superpowers and stuff.

But there was one time where the stories didn’t work anymore, and this time Dean had to try something new - escaping into fantasy.

Somehow he had got a hold of a copy of _Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland_ , and he would read a chapter to Sam every time he had a nightmare, to help him focus on something other than monsters so he could go back to sleep. When they had gone through all twelve chapters, Dean “found” a copy of _Through The Looking Glass_ and continued on.

The memory put a smile on Sam’s tear-streaked face, and he had a very sudden desire to read that book again. Wiping his eyes with his hand and drying it on his shirt, he stood and moved to the stacks of books.

Yeah, it was a kid’s book - but it wouldn’t be the most unusual thing found in those stacks. Hell, they had every Oz book ever published (and a few that weren’t), and he was extraordinarily pleased, but not surprised, when he found both _Alice's Adventures_... and ... _Looking Glass_. Pulling the first from the shelf, he returned to his seat at the table.

Just a chapter or two, to clear his mind.

As soon as he opened the book to the first chapter, he realized this was not the book Dean had read to him as a child.

This was a _true accounting_ of a Woman of Letters, Alice Liddell, who had experienced the events in the children’s book - and had then gone to Kendricks Academy and joined the British Men of Letters with the sole intent of recreating the powder and potion she had taken as a child, in order to return to that world.

And apparently she was successful - as the ingredients and instructions for the cake (EAT ME) and potion (DRINK ME) were _written right there in the book_!

Sam stared at the page, not quite believing what he was seeing. When he finally came to his senses, he started to shout for Cas but thought better of it - Cas was with a sleeping Dean and Sam didn’t want to wake him, so instead, he hurried to Dean’s room and rapped quietly on his door. “Cas? Cas, I think I’ve found the cure!”


	4. The Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds a spell to restore Dean in a place he never would have imagined. Cas and Sam restore the rest of the hunters while Dean recovers, and Dean finally shows Cas _exactly_ how recovered he is.

Castiel lay next to Dean, who had lapsed into slumber, curled in his usual position against Cas’ outstretched hand, arms wrapped around his pinky finger. This suited Castiel well, as it allowed him to not only be close to Dean but to also consistently check the level of spark remaining in him - and although the former was a comfort, the latter was more a source of pain than relief.

Dean’s spark was dimming more and more every day, and Castiel had no idea how to stop it. Resting seemed to slow it down, but it was apparent that it was Dean’s state of consciousness that seemed to be draining him faster than the hunters who were still in stasis.

Now that Dean was asleep and resting well, Castiel knew he should be out in the Library helping Sam find a way to remove the curse - but he didn’t know how much longer he would have with Dean, and was loathe to leave him. 

Terrified at the idea that he would return and find Dean had faded away in his absence.

When he heard Sam’s knock, the possibility of a way to remove the curse whispered through the door, his heart rate accelerated alarmingly and he had to calm himself so as to not wake Dean. Even so, Dean stirred slightly in his sleep and released Castiel’s finger, rolling to face away from him and pulling the small blanket up around his shoulders, his breathing returning to the slow pace of slumber.

Castiel quietly slid out of the bed, grabbing his shoes in passing as he padded on stockinged feet to crack open the door and slip out into the hallway. Closing the door behind him, he turned to face Sam, leaning against the wall to pull his shoes back on. 

Sam was all but bouncing in the hallway, brandishing a book in his hand which he thrust into Castiel’s as soon as he straightened. Apparently unable to speak in his excitement, Sam jabbed a finger at a passage in the book listing ingredients for a cake and a potion, labeled in puzzlingly obvious fashion “Eat Me” and “Drink Me”, respectively. 

Holding the page with his finger, Castiel closed the book to observe the title - _Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland_. He raised a querying look to Sam. “This is a children’s book, Sam. How is this going to help Dean?”

Sam finally found his voice, reaching to grasp Castiel’s arm to pull him away from the room and back toward the library. “It’s not, though, Cas… take a closer look…”, his voice breathless in his excitement. Castiel obliged and upon closer examination came to the same conclusion that Sam had earlier. 

“Sam, this is a remarkable find! But these ingredients - “two cups of flower, worm fat, tongue of a blowfish… two tablespoons of wishful thinking? These are nonsensical items…”  
“Not necessarily,” Sam countered. “I cross-referenced many of these ingredients with Rowena’s journals and I believe it’s a type of code.” He shuffled the pile of books and papers scattered haphazardly around the table until he found the one he was looking for, and flipped to a marked page, finger jabbing at the words written in Rowena’s flowing script. 

“Right here - ‘...certain flowers are edible and have magical healing properties. For example, Dahlia has the properties of abundance and strength and can be used in enlarging spells, Lavender with the properties of protection, healing, and purification is useful for cleansing spells.’ She’s provided a whole list here…” He pauses, scanning the list of flowers. “So, the Dahlia is obvious so we’ll need two cups of that, and... here! Peony, for luck, protection, abundance - that sounds like “wishful thinking” to me!”

Castiel continued to look at the list of ingredients. “Three coins from a dead man’s pocket?”  
Sam nodded. “So in 1865 when Alice had her adventure, a majority of coins were made from copper with trace amounts of iron. So “coins from a dead man’s pocket”...”

“Dead man’s blood,” Castiel interjected, and Sam nodded in agreement. “And worm fat - dragons were often referred to as worms or wyrms…” 

“Waitaminute…” Sam interrupted, then turned and sprinted out of the library, through the map room and turning down the hall that led to the storeroom. Cas followed and found Sam rifling through boxes containing the items recovered from Rowena’s “pantry”. 

“AH HA!” Sam exclaimed and held up a jar of reddish-yellow material with a paste-like consistency, clearly labeled “Dragon Fat”. “I don’t know where she got this and I don’t WANNA know, but I remember cataloging it.” He continued to search through the boxes, pulling a jar containing Dahlia, another filled with Peony petals. 

While Sam searched Rowena’s pantry boxes, Castiel moved to another shelf and picked a jar of dead man’s blood from it, taking it back to the small pile of ingredients Sam had gathered.

“So now the only ingredient left is “tongue of a blowfish”, and I am quite certain blowfish do not have tongues.” Cas remarked as they gathered up the items and walked back to the Library.

“Pretty sure that’s metaphorical,” Sam said. “A small strip of meat is often called a “tongue”, and blowfish is a delicacy in sushi restaurants, called ‘fugu’.” 

“Yes, I’m familiar with the practice of excising the poison from the fish before butchering the meat…” Castiel said pensively, “but where do you propose we acquire this delicacy? The closest sushi restaurant, especially one that would have fugu, must be many hours away… maybe even days.” 

Sam paused in the library long enough to shift the ingredients he was carrying to one arm and picking up the book with his free hand, then continued on to the kitchen, Castiel following. Setting the ingredients on the stainless steel island, he ambled over to the refrigerator, pulled out a package of mushrooms, and with a crooked smile, a small tray of fugu wrapped in cellophane. 

“I was going to try my hand at making sushi, and have always wanted to see what the big deal with fugu was,” Sam grinned. “It’s like... kismet!”

Castiel consulted the book again, checking off the ingredients. “We’re missing sugar and thyme.” He turned to the pantry and collected a bag of sugar and a small bottle of thyme, and set them on the counter along with everything else. While he was doing that, Sam found two mixing bowls and a cupcake pan, setting them on the island with the ingredients.

Working as a team, they began mixing the ingredients - Castiel measuring out the dry ingredients into one bowl - one cup of sugar, pinch of the thyme, two cups of the Dahlia petals (nearly the whole jar), and two tablespoons of the peony petals; shredding the flower petals by hand for a more accurate measurement. Meanwhile, Sam coated several cupcake molds with the dragon fat, then measured out an additional half cup of the dragon fat into his bowl, chopped up a small portion of a mushroom for the “pinch of fungus” and a small sliver of the fugu, adding those to the dragon fat. Finally, using the syringe Castiel brought with the blood from the storeroom, measured out two milliliters of the dead man’s blood and squirted it into the bowl.

After Sam had mixed the wet ingredients thoroughly, he poured it into Castiel’s bowl of dry ingredients, and while Sam turned to fire up the oven, Castiel stirred the contents until they were thoroughly combined and poured the batter into the waiting cupcake molds as the oven heated, and placed the tin inside to bake when the oven was ready.

Fifteen minutes for the cupcakes to bake. Castiel hurried back to Dean’s room to rouse him for the spell, Sam following close behind.

**********

As they reached the door to Dean’s room, Sam paused, then grabbed Cas’ arm, stopping him before he could open the door.

“Cas… wait…” Sam tugged on Cas’ arm, and Cas turned to face him with an anxious, bewildered look. “Sam, we really should get Dean into the infirmary…”

“No, listen to me,” Sam said earnestly. “I think we should try it on one of the other hunters first.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, as if Sam had gone completely insane.  
“Sam…,” Cas growled, then paused, his eyes closing and taking several deep breaths before starting again, his voice calmer but no less urgent. “Sam, Dean is _dying_ … we need to get him free of the curse as soon as possible!”

Sam raised his hands in acknowledgment. “I know, I know… believe me.” His hands fell to his sides, head drooping. “But what if it doesn’t work? I… I don’t want to get his hopes up and find out it doesn’t work.” 

Sam heard a sharp intake of breath from Cas, and glanced up to see a stricken look on his face. Cas obviously hadn’t even considered the possibility and the thought was just as devastating to him. He met Sam’s gaze and nodded in agreement, turning to head toward the Dean cave instead. 

Cas approached the row of the hunter’s figurines and brushed a finger over each, then gently picked one, cradling it in his hands and brought it over to Sam.

“Is that… Tracy Bell?” Sam looked over Cas’ shoulder at the figurine resting in his hands. Her face was frozen in the same fierce look he remembered from the last time he saw her in Oregon after the fight with Abbadon. 

“Her spark is nearly gone, almost as much as Dean’s,” Cas said quietly. “She will not only be a good test, but we’ll also save her life if it works.” 

Sam nodded in agreement, and Cas passed Tracy’s figurine to him. “Go, take her to the infirmary and prepare the Blue Faery spell. The cupcakes should almost be ready, and I want to check in on Dean before we proceed,” he said quietly, turning swiftly to leave.

Sam held Tracy in one hand and placed the other on Cas’ shoulder, stopping him, feeling the tension in Cas’ shoulder beneath his hand. 

“It’s going to work, Cas,” Sam assured him. “I know it will. I have to believe.” Cas, his back still turned, nodded, and Sam gave his shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. Following Cas out of the Cave, Sam watched him briskly turn the corner into the hallway heading to Dean’s room, and continued on toward the Infirmary to gather the ingredients for the spell.

**********

Entering the infirmary with a plate containing the cupcakes fresh from the oven, Castiel saw Sam had laid Tracy on one of the infirmary beds, and had pulled out the ingredients for the restoring spell, preparing to mix them. He glanced up at Castiel as he entered and gave him an encouraging smile. 

“Cupcakes look good,” he commented, then grimaced. “I hope they don’t taste as awful as the recipe sounds.” He turned back to his work, and Castiel placed the cupcakes on the table and assisted him. As before, both sliced their palms, bleeding into the bowl, Sam reciting the spell and Cas lighting the match, dropping it into the bowl as Sam finished. Cas gathered the pooling blue light generated by the spell, tossing it as before over to the bed where Tracy lay as he uttered the activation word. 

A flash of light, and Castiel picked up one of the cupcakes, taking it to the bed where Tracy lay, Sam clearing the smoke away. Tracy, similar to Dean, was restored to flesh and was conscious but only barely. Kneeling by the bed, with gentle hands Sam roused her and lifted her to a sitting position, Castiel kneeling on her other side. Breaking off a small piece of the cupcake, barely a crumb, he placed it in her hands.

“What… what is this?” Tracy asked weakly, her voice barely audible as she blinked down at the cake filling her tiny hands. 

“Just… trust us, Tracy, and take a bite,” Sam encouraged her, using a fingertip to give a gentle upward push to her hands. Tracy blearily acquiesced and ate the small morsel in her hands. When she was done, Sam laid her back down, and both he and Castiel stood up, backing away from the bed to see if the spell worked.

At first, nothing happened. Tracy’s eye’s closed and Castiel started toward her to monitor her spark, but he had only just reached the bed when her eyes flew open, and gave a startled shout as she began to stretch and widen - but at about 4 feet tall, the growth stopped.

“Quick, Cas… more of the cupcake!” Sam shouted, heading to Tracy’s side as she began to rise. “Hold on, Tracy! We’re gonna fix this!” 

“Sam… Sam Winchester? What’s going on…” Tracy exclaimed, pushing against Sam’s hands as he helped her to a sitting position. Castiel returned to the bedside and handed Tracy more of the cupcake. 

“Please, eat this. We’ll answer all your questions as soon as you’re fully restored.”

Tracy glanced between them, eyes wide, and ate the cake. A moment later, she fell back down against the bed, back arching and eyes wide, mouth gaping open in a silent cry as she began to grow again. When this bout of growth stopped, Tracy lay still on the bed, panting, sweat misting her face and neck. Castiel judged her to have grown to five feet, eight inches in height and proportional in width and limb length. 

“Tracy, how tall are you normally?” Sam inquired, holding out a hand to help her sit up. Castiel hastened to the infirmary sink, moistened a washcloth and brought it to her. She took it with a tired, grateful smile. 

“Five foot eight,” she said, wiping her face and neck with the cloth, handing it back to Castiel before laying back down with a tired sigh. In minutes, she was asleep. 

Castiel placed two fingers on her forehead. The “spark” was gone, replaced or, he supposed, returned to her overall essence. She was whole again, but the experience had left her understandably exhausted. Castiel turned to Sam, who beamed back at him with an expression he was sure matched his own.

“It worked, Cas! IT FUCKING WORKED!” he exclaimed, crossing the room and pulling Castiel into a hug, startling and surprising him at first but which after a moment, he heartily returned. Remembering Sam’s admonitions regarding hugs, he added several pats to the other man’s back.

Sam laughed, releasing him and holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length, a smile as bright as the sun lighting his face. “So, did you want to go get Dean and bring him here?”

Castiel considered the suggestion but had a better idea. “There is no real need to bring him here to the infirmary,” he said, glancing at Tracy, who had fallen into a deep sleep. He moved to the bed, pulling up the blanket at the foot of the bed to cover her. “We don’t need to perform the restoration spell on him, and he will need to sleep and regain his strength.” Glancing around the room at the limited amount of beds - “and in any case, we are going to need every available bed to restore the other hunters and allow them to recuperate from their ordeal.”

Sam followed his gaze around the room and nodded in agreement. “Good plan.” Picking up the partially consumed cupcake, he hurried toward the exit of the infirmary.

“C’mon. Let’s go get your boyfriend and my brother back on his feet!” he exclaimed over his shoulder as he passed through the door into the hallway outside.

Castiel felt his face grow hot at the label, but couldn’t deny it, nor his urgency to restore Dean to his full size and vigor. He quickly followed Sam to Dean’s room.

**********

“Dean… Dean, wake up…”  
Castiel brushed a finger across Dean’s cheek and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Dean’s spark was so low, he could barely feel it. Castiel tried again, pushing down the desperation building in his chest and threatening to spill from his eyes. He looked up at Sam, sitting in a chair on the other side of Dean’s bed, met his gaze and saw his own fear reflected in Sam’s eyes.

Returning his attention to Dean, he leaned over to whisper in his ear, continuing to stroke his cheek, moving down to his back. “Dean. Please wake up, my love.” 

To Castiel’s great relief, Dean finally stirred, rolling onto his back and blinking wearily up at Castiel, then slowly turning his head and spied his brother.

“Hey, fellas. Why the long faces?” Dean quipped, his voice raspy.

It’s all Castiel could do to keep from weeping with joy, the emotion clogging his throat.

Sam must have seen him struggle, and came to the rescue. “We have a cure, Dean! You’re gonna be ok!”

Dean smiled wanly. “That’s… great news…” he said, voice fading out as his eyes began to close again.

“DEAN! Dean, no, stay awake…” Castiel placed a hand behind him, helping him into a sitting position, Dean blinking awake again. “Sam, measure out the cupcake, please. We need to hurry.”

Castiel reached his hand toward Sam, never taking his eyes off Dean, who weakly turned his head to look up and meet his gaze. “Heya, sweetheart.” 

Feeling a small piece of cupcake placed in his hand, Castiel pulled it back to place in front of Dean, who dazedly looked down at the cake before looking back up at him.

“You… want me to eat… cake?” Dean rasped, and Castiel smiled at the hint of indignation in his voice.

“Yes, I know… it should be pie,” Castiel acknowledged. “But the spell called for cake, so we didn’t wish to risk it not working.” He brushed the hand containing the cupcake piece against Dean’s chest. “Please, Dean? For me?”

“It will make you big and strong!” Sam’s voice came from over his shoulder, an edge of nervous laughter in his voice.

Dean sighed, and reached tiredly forward to grasp the cupcake. Sam had measured out the combined portion they had given Tracy, perhaps slightly more. That made sense, as Dean was several inches taller than Tracy. 

Dean eyed the cake suspiciously, then looked up to meet Castiel’s eyes once more as he consumed it. 

“I’m going to lay you back down, Dean. This should happen fairly quickly, so be…” Castiel was cut off by Dean’s howl of pain as his torso began to lengthen rapidly, his back arching in agony.

Sam leaped to his feet, rushing to Dean’s side to hold him down as he writhed, Castiel rising quickly to hold down his thrashing legs. Thankfully, it was over quickly, and Dean collapsed, coated in sweat and chest heaving - but he was whole again, returned to his full, glorious six foot, one inch stature. 

Castiel repeated the procedure he performed on Tracy, discovering the same results - his full essence returned to his body. 

As Sam quickly moved to the sink to dampen a washcloth for Dean’s face, Castiel grasped his face with both hands and pressed his forehead to Dean’s.

“Welcome back, love,” he whispered against Dean’s lips, feeling him relax as he drifted into slumber.

**********

Over the next several days, Dean faded in and out of consciousness but whenever he woke up, like magic, either Sam was there to give him a smile and a squeeze of the shoulder; or Cas, with soup and water and as many kisses as he could squeeze in between bites.

Sam also told him about his and Cas’ progress with returning the remaining hunters to the land of the living. Many were good to go after a couple of hours rest and a meal, but others, like Tracy, required many days of recovery in the infirmary. Most left as soon as they could, and Dean couldn’t blame them - they had families to return to and monsters still needed to be dealt with, but a couple of the recovered stayed behind to help Sam and Cas care for the others like Tracy. A few he even remembered stopping by to see how he was doing and to extend their thanks before heading back to their lives. 

But throughout his recovery, the one constant was Cas by his side every night. Early on, he was only dimly aware of the warmth next to him as he slept, but as his recovery progressed he became more aware of Cas lying next to him - fully clothed, trench coat and all. 

The night Cas crawled into bed with him in his usual state of not-undress, Dean finally had to say something.

“Listen, Cas… you know I love it when I wake up all warm and toasty with an armful of angel,” he drawled, picking at the collar of the coat for emphasis, “but honestly, this trench coat is killin’ the mood.”

Cas huffed, his breath warm against Dean’s face and making him warm… elsewhere. “Dean, you have not been in any condition to even have a “mood”, much less do anything about it.” 

Dean stopped picking at the collar, his hand moving to slide under the coat and the suit jacket to run a palm against the dress shirt underneath, stroking down his chest and side to rest on his hip. He delighted in the sharp intake of breath from the angel at the contact. 

“I’m beginning to feel _much_ better now,” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips, hand sliding around Cas’ back and pulling him flush against him, turning to nuzzle Cas’ neck and breathing in the heady scent of him.

Other things were beginning to feel a lot better as well, Dean noticed, and ground his hips against Cas to see if he would notice. Cas’ gasp and soft moan was all the indication he needed, and he pressed a smiling kiss into Cas’ neck. 

But then Cas gently pushed away and fastened him with a stern look. 

“Dean, you need to rest. You’re not yet ready for this kind of… activity,” Cas scolded, but the last word coming out in a breathy moan as Dean ground against him again, giving the lie to his words. 

Dean grinned, but Cas’ stern look intensified, and Dean surrendered. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean acquiesced. “I’ll make you a deal. I promise I’ll rest and not push it, but you gotta get outta those clothes and into something more comfortable.” He gestured to the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. “Get one of my t-shirts and a pair of sweats and get out of that suit.” He leveled a pleading look at him. “I’ll rest better if I know you’re more comfortable…”

With a sigh Cas nodded, rising from the bed and padding over to the drawer where Dean kept his t-shirts and sweats. 

Dean considered the fact that Cas knew exactly where to go to get those items, and looking down at his own attire, flushed at the knowledge that Cas had probably changed his clothes for him when he was unconscious. 

Cas has undoubtedly seen him naked. It was only fair for the tables to turn, right?

And he fully intended to watch the proceedings as Cas pulled out one of Dean’s AC/DC shirts and a pair of dark blue sweats, closing the drawer and turning to set them at the foot of the bed. Then by God if Cas didn’t stare directly into his eyes while slowly removing the trench coat and then the suit jacket, sauntering over to drape both over the chair next to Dean’s desk, slowly turning back around to loosen the tie knot and slip it from around his neck, slowly, slowly… 

Dean woke up again when six feet of cotton-shrouded angel slid under the covers and spooned up against him, breath warm on the back of his neck and arm draped over him to stroke his chest.

_So not fair…_ Dean thought as he drifted back to sleep.

**********

So this nonsense went on for a couple of days, and if Dean were less tired, he would be so very frustrated. 

Somehow he kept missing Cas changing, and began to suspect angelic shenanigans. 

While he would always wake up with either Cas spooning him, or Cas wrapped in Dean’s arms, he would always end up dozing off only to be awakened again by a fully Holy Tax Accountant-uniformed angel kissing him awake, breakfast at the ready. 

And try as he might, he never got much past the tie removal part of the striptease, although he managed to stay awake for the shoes coming off the night before. Progress!

As Dean finished his breakfast, Cas nearby with his cup of coffee, a knock came at the door. 

“It’s open!” Dean called. The door cracked and a dark-skinned girl peeked around it. 

“Hey... Tracy?” Dean asked as she pushed the door open further and entered, then pushed himself slowly from the bed to meet her as she crossed the room, giving her a hug. “How’re you feeling?” 

“All good,” she replied with a smile, pushing back from the hug to look up at him. “How ‘bout you?”

Dean jerked his head in Cas’ direction. “Doc still has me on lockdown,” and grinned at Cas’ eyeroll, “but feeling much better.” He released her and crossed his arms. “So, you outta here now?”

Tracy nodded with a shrug. “Yeah, gotta get back at it. Sam told me the witch that fucked us all over is gone, so that’s good - but you know how it is. Always another monster to put down.” 

Dean nodded in agreement. “Sad but true.” He gave her another brief hug in parting. “Stay safe, kiddo, and call if you need anything, okay?” She nodded and waved to Cas as she turned and left, closing the door behind her. 

He turned to Cas. “She’s the last of ‘em, right?” Cas nodded, and Dean sighed and stretched in contentment. “Ahhhh, everything back to normal.” 

Another knock at the door then, and Sam peeked in. “Hey, Dean!” Pushing the door open and crossing the room to pull Dean into his gigantic arms to give him a giant moose hug, pulling away to hold him at arm’s length. “Cas said you’ve been doing better… “ He stopped and dropped his head. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by very often to see you… getting everyone healthy again, even with help, was a handful.” 

Dean clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, no worries! I was in good hands over here,” he said, dropping a wink at Cas whose answering smile was like a beam of pure sunshine. 

He caught Sam’s goofy grin out of the corner of his eye, and groaned. “Okay, knock it off. So what brings you ‘round? Caught a case or something?” 

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Sam confessed. “Just a milk run, heading up with Tracy for a haunting up in Nebraska. Shouldn’t take but a couple days…” He cast a worried look between him and Cas. “You guys gonna be okay if I take off to handle this?”

Cas nodded. “Of course, Sam. Dean is doing much better. We may even venture to the Dean Cave for a movie today.”

Dean all but shoved Sam toward the door, walking with him out into the hallway and curling a finger to bring him closer.

“Now, you know the drill. Sock on the door handle, DO NOT INTERRUPT. Got it?” 

Sam blanched. “Ugh, thanks for that visual, Dean,” and hightailed it toward the garage.

Dean turned back into the room, laughing to himself… and stopped, stunned, at the sight of Cas, holding up a sock.

**********

Dean was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He was across the room in an instant, Cas pressed against the wall, the sock snatched from Cas’ hand and flung across the room, Dean’s hands absolutely _everywhere_ before settling on either side of Cas’ face, fingers curling around his jaw and thumbs caressing his cheekbones. His lips found Cas’, first savoring his full top lip then moving to bite gently on the plush lower one. Running his tongue across the bite soothingly, he slid his tongue forward and Cas responded with a low moan, opening up for him and sucking it in.

Cas’ hands were not idle, slipping under Dean’s t-shirt to run up the hot skin of his back and clutch his shoulders from behind, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly deeper into the kiss. 

When he could go no longer without air, Dean broke away from Cas’ lips, using his thumbs to thrust Cas’ jaw up and trailing lips and tongue along the stubble of Cas’ jaw, Cas’ breath coming in gasps and moans as Dean licked a hot stripe down his neck. Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back to press against his lower back, pulling his hips against Cas’, and Dean groaned into his neck as he felt Cas’ hard length against his own. 

Dean guessed Cas was done with foreplay when he pushed him effortlessly across the room to the bed, the back of Dean’s knees hitting the edge of the memory foam mattress (it remembered him!). His legs collapsed under the pressure and he found himself sitting on the bed, pinned down by a lap full of aroused angel. 

Cas wasted no time in taking advantage of his position, fingers grasping the hem of Dean's shirt and whipping it over his head to toss in some random direction, and Dean audibly gasped as the burning blue of Cas’ eyes met his. 

Dean’s eyes remained locked on Cas’, lost in them as Cas pushed him down to the bed. Still straddling him, his hands on Cas’ hips, Cas brushed his hands down Dean’s chest, stopping long enough to pinch and roll each nipple between thumb and forefinger. Dean’s hips involuntarily twitched upward, and his fingers dug into Cas’ hips, causing a dark growl to rumble in Cas’ throat. Cas’ hands continued their southward journey until they reached the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants. Sliding sinuously down Dean’s legs to kneel before him, he hooked fingers into the waistband of both sweatpants and underwear and pulled, Dean raising his hips slightly to accommodate the action. Staring unseeing at the ceiling, Dean felt Cas pull them the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet, heard the soft thump as he tossed them aside and they hit the floor.

Then Dean heard a low breathy moan as he felt Cas’ hot tongue sliding up the inside of his calf, the underside of his knee and inside of his thigh, and realized the sound was coming from him. 

And when he felt Cas’ mouth slide down his length, he finally found the ability to speak.

“Oh...oh God, yes, Cas,” his voice sounding absolutely wrecked in his own ears. 

Cas did not linger there, however. Three more slides of that marvelous mouth, three more swirls of his tongue over the head, and he pulled off. Dean looked down and saw what was, in his not so humble opinion, a complete and utter travesty.

Cas was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at Dean like a thirsty man looking at water - and he was _still fully clothed_.  
Well, that simply wouldn’t do. Dean sat up and pulled Cas to him, grasping his t-shirt to whip it over his head, sucking kisses onto his stomach as he pulled his sweatpants and underwear down. Cas placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders for balance as he kicked them off, and with a deep throaty growl, pushed Dean back down onto the bed and began crawling up after him.

Dean crab-crawled backwards and Cas stalked him like a tiger with prey, until Dean’s head hit the headboard, and Cas was on him, his lips on Dean’s, chest and hips meshed, his hard length slotted against Dean’s and as they slid together, simultaneously keening and moaning into each other’s mouths. 

Dean, eyes closed, hand clenching the nape of Cas’ neck and fingers buried in his hair, Cas’ tongue tasting every inch of his mouth, reached blindly for the lube in his bedside table. Finding it, he broke the kiss and gasped into Cas’ ear, “Move with me, babe…”, pushing with his leg to roll them until they were side by side, giving Dean the space to reach between them.  
Expertly popping the lid one-handed and flipping the bottle to squeeze out a generous portion into his hand, he discards the bottle and reaches between them, grasping them both in his hand, and began to stroke. 

Cas’ whole body began to tremble, his breath shuddering against Dean’s neck.

“Deeeeaaaan…” he gasped, drawing out the syllable like a prayer, layering kisses against his neck and collarbone in between shuddering breaths, hands clutching Dean’s back like a drowning man on a raft. Their hips thrusting together in time to Dean’s strokes, and Dean knew Cas was close, as the coiling pressure in his own pelvis indicated he would not be far behind. 

With a sharp, shaky whine, Cas’ body locked up as he came, and Dean joined him moments later.

Releasing their softening shafts, Dean clutched and pulled Cas against him as they came back down, burying his face into Cas’ neck, stroking a hand up and down Cas’ back as his shudders subsided.

Dean could stay like this forever, tangled around his fallen angel. 

He began to feel like he was starting to doze off, then felt dampness on his shoulder, heard Cas’ breathing still coming in quaking gasps. Alarmed, he pulled away and raised Cas’ head from his shoulder, looked into Cas’ tear-streaked face.

“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Dean asked him softly, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

Cas’ eyes, infinitely blue, shone with tears on the brink of falling again. It took several deep quavering breaths before he could speak.

“Dean… Dean, I… I almost l-lost…” His voice broke, and it took several more breaths before he could continue. “I almost lost you.” He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, biting back another sob. 

“Hey… hey, look at me,” Dean said, and Cas opened his eyes, wide and pleading. 

“I’m not going anywhere, babe,” he promised. “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”  
Cas gave him a frail smile, and Dean wrapped his arms around him, drifting off to sleep shortly afterward.


	5. Epilogue: The Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas makes bacon, Dean thanks Cas for bacon in the best way, and Sam reveals something that might help in their fight against Chuck.

Dean’s eyes blinked open and the first thing he noticed was the lack of a warm angel at his back, for the first time in weeks. He also noticed that he was once again dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants… and thank whoever happened to be listening, he wasn’t… uh... sticky.

Cas must have cleaned him up and dressed him - and he must have been way more worn out from the previous night’s festivities than he thought if he’d slept through it.

Raising to a sitting position took more effort than it should, and confirmed the fact - he ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt. With a very un-sexy groan, he heaved his legs over the side of the bed and reached to flip on the lamp on the bedside table. 

A strange sound filtered through the closed bedroom door - was it… crackling? No, sizzling. Dean knew that sound and so did his salivary glands, his mouth watering at the sound of cooking bacon. Obviously, this must be investigated, and his stomach agreed with a mighty rumble.

Cas, ever considerate, had placed his slippers within easy reach, and his dead man’s robe lay neatly out on the foot of the bed. Donning both, he rose to his feet with a grunt, and shuffled toward the door, grasping the doorknob to pull the door open...

And busted out laughing at the sock carefully tied on the doorknob. 

And just as quickly stopped, a flush of heat running through his body as he wondered if Cas had put it there as an indication of future plans.

Flushed, flustered, and a bit turned on, he headed toward the sound, and now smell, of sizzling bacon. 

Turning the corner from the hallway into the kitchen, he found Cas behind the stove just as he turned to add even more bacon to the already heaping pile layered on a plate on the kitchen island, his eyes flicking up to Dean’s as he entered. 

“Dean… you should still be in bed…”

Dean continued forward, pressing Cas’ body against the island with his own, his lips swallowing Cas’ words, tasting the coffee on Cas’ tongue. 

Cas stiffened in surprise but quickly got on board, humming contentedly and grasping Dean’s hips, pulling him in and holding him there. 

“DEAN? CAS… oh shit…” Sam’s voice echoing down the hallway from the garage startled Dean and he broke the kiss, but Cas retained the firm grip on Dean’s hips so when Sam walked into the kitchen, he was treated to the sight of his brother all but mounting his best friend on the kitchen island.

“Oh… h-hey, guys,” Sam stammered, spinning around to look over his shoulder in the direction of Dean’s room, then turning back. “I saw the sock and… uh… thought you guys might be... Uh…” Sam’s face flushed bright red, and Dean was definitely enjoying this.

“Sorry, Sammy… but you know how I am about bacon, and then Cas was here, and well, one thing led to another, and…” 

“OH GOD PLEASE STOP,” Sam begged, and it was then Dean noticed the strap lying diagonally across Sam’s chest, and what appeared to be a -- scabbard? -- attached to it, and the Wonderland book in his hand. Gently prying Cas’ hands from his hips but keeping hold of one, he pulled away and strode toward him, Cas in tow behind him. 

“Sam… is that a… SWORD?” Dean asked, releasing Cas’ hand to circle around Sam’s back, examining the scabbard, and hilt poking out of the top. 

Cas was right there, and a look of shocked recognition crossed his face.  
“Sam, is that…”

“Yeah!” Sam exclaimed, spinning to face both of them and thrusting the book toward them, the page opened to a picture of Alice wielding a sword against a hideous beast, captioned “Alice Battles the Jabberwock.” Sam jabbed a finger at the sword in Alice’s hand. 

“It’s the Vorpal Sword!” he said breathlessly. 

Dean took the book from him, reading what the real Alice had written about the Sword. “Wait, this thing is real? Sam, I read you this poem when you were a kid. It’s nonsense, Lewis Carroll got a hold of some really good mushrooms that day…”

“No, Dean… it’s real.” Cas murmured in awe. “It’s been lost for millennia.”

“Millenia?” Dean scowled. “The story was written only a couple hundred years ago.”

“Yes, but Mr. Dodgson was referencing an ancient weapon of the Host,” Cas explained. He turned to Sam. “May I?” he inquired, nodding at the sword.

Sam pulled the strap over his head and handed it to Cas, who pulled the sword from its sheath reverently, the sharp edges of the blade catching the light and casting reflections on the walls.

Dean looks back down to the page. “Wait a minute… this says “anything that is beheaded by the Sword, will die and stay dead, forever and a day.” He glanced back up at Cas, incredulous. “ANYTHING anything?” He paused, then continued hesitantly “Like, even CHUCK?”

Cas looked up from his admiration of the Sword to meet Dean’s gaze, eyes bright and a fierce grin curving his lips.

“ESPECIALLY Chuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you love all things Destiel, come join me at the funnest, most supportive place on Discord, the [Profound Bond Discord Server](http://discord.profoundbond.net/)!


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